The hacker had breached the final firewall and was typing code into the command prompt: code/7777SOHAT. Images flashed up on screen and he gazed in terror at what he saw.
Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence,
Striking with his heel a tomb,
Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
Zig, zig, zig, on his violin.
"I never want to hear another fiddle for as long as I live!" -Corwin Silvernail
A mighty Kraken, the beloved of Big Red, has been infected by a horrible polar parasite, and the PCs have to find a way to cure her before it is too late...
On a planet with no name, a group of lawmen must protect a colony nobody has heard of from the universe’s most effective killers. All the while preserving the safety of both the guilty and the innocent in an effort to make society more about dignity and freedom than profit and force.
Due to the nature of tabletop RPGs, a campaign will often start with a random group of strangers. Here are some ways to get them adventuring together, without resorting to the old Tavern trope.
From beyond through veils sublime
Pass ghostly, o umbral shine
Illuminate in shadow, fade colors, so fallow
Dark dreaming does bidding thine
In a bar not too far off the road, a man walks in. his boots clattering on the wooden floor. The bar is noticeably empty with only a few guys still around either drinking or chatting. Not too surprising since it is already the evening and they probably went home. The smell of smoke and liquor still hangs in the air like a fly caught in a web. The man in the trench coat pulls himself on a stool near the counter. His face covered by a bandanna and the brim of his hat obscuring the view of his eyes. The bartender, who had been cleaning a beer glass, looks up.
"So what'll it be, stranger?"
The man responds in a gruff and tired voice. "Dark and Stormy."
"A demonic plant? Don't be daft, go research something useful to society."
"But-but the p-plant! It's evil! It must be destroyed!"
"Now the flowers bloom all year round thanks to the most holy Spirit of Urban flora. It just takes a little blood."
It was just any other day, another testament to the mundane dreary lives of the living. No one was prepared for their coming, how could they be? They entered the bodies of the living, transforming them into blood thirsty monsters, all in an instant.
Trapped in a dream, chained by a net of magic, Deneus Betherim, arch mage of Cormalth bleeds magical essence from his fingers, fueling a rift in the fabric of existence; an essence conduit to the realm of elemental earth.
Earth, sand, mud, rocks and clay travel through the rift, and a mountain is being born beneath the feet of the ensorcelled conjuror.
Deneus is the blood of the mountain, fueling the portal, but who is the mastermind behind it all?
When the Caliph-Emperor of the Dunes hear about his son's heart attack at the northern front, his rage is unstoppable. For his son was only nineteen years old, and a trained athlete. Grief stricken as only a parent bereft of their child can be, the Emperor finally rouses the Empire into action.
So, when reinforcements finally arrive to the beleaguered veterans at the front, they are accompanied by the the Imperial Necromancers in their gold laced red silken robes, as well as the three old triplet hags of Devananon, seers and prophets who use narcotics to enhance their trance visions.
As the Prince's corpse is carted to the Spires of Devananon, where the necromancers and the triplets will work their magic, the PCs will have to conjure a plan of their own. For they are to blame for the Prince's death.
This plot is set five months after the happenings of "A Dark Moon over Sagranz", but could be adapted by any GM to fit his setting and need.
How hard is it to despatch a troublesome swan? A lot harder then you might think.
The players; survivors of an elite squad of mercenaries, are assigned to an assassination mission. Their task; to penetrate enemy lines during night, enter the fortified Holzberg Monastery where Sagranz has his command, and kill the elderly Hexenjaeger in his sleep.
If only it was so easy...
More annoying than fairy fire ever was. And much more deadly.
In the chosen families, the son was always more dangerous than the father.
Food, fun, and a mummy!
A military organization, the Stalkers are a hunting/mining militia that are known for wearing full body shrouds that easily hide them in snow and other slushy terrain. The lightly armored warriors are known for the speed, stealth, and the vicious wounds inflicted by their hunting hatchets. Many of the Stalkers keep crop-eared warhounds with them, both for hunting, companionship, and in war.